The following are a couple of guidelines, shall we say, to aid you in the reading of this review.

First: I put these two EPs together in a playlist on my iTunes with A Path Through The Sun first and A Path Through The Moon tailing as the caboose.

Second: I am an unabashed, shameless, baseball nut. Not just a fan, but a committed "seamhead." And seeing as this is my first proper Spring review, I couldn’t help but make parallels to the greatest game invented by bipedal, opposable thumb-possessing primates.

So, last Monday was Opening Day in Major League Baseball, which signals a turn of the seasons and of attitudes. Clawing our way out of the dark, dank caves of Winter, hope really does Spring eternal for us baseball fans. However fanatical or casual a fan, we all make our pilgrimages to the cathedrals of the game to sit and enjoy a slower pace than that of day-to-day life. The air becomes thick with soothing noises and welcoming smells of peanuts being shelled, freshly shorn grass, and barbeque. Those sounds of the ballpark soon swim together in streams of lush ambience, the whir of the crowd a familiar drone. However, today’s game is mostly played in the metropolis, the urban center, which can muddle and cloud some of this relaxing rustic aesthetic of the game. So, to situate the EPs in baseball analogy, I want you to transport yourself to the rural version of baseball. Think of W.P. Kinsella’s Field of Dreams, of a ballfield carved into the corner of a vast expanse of cornstalks.

From the first deliberate strums of the guitar on “Instant Light”, the pastoral is illuminated from behind, much the way the early Spring sun shines through the wheat husks lazily shifting in a post-rainstorm breeze. As the song builds and wanders, slowly surging sine waves of guitar emulate the leisurely ambling of people to the ballpark. All of the tones mingling in the burgeoning afternoon sun even collect a little dust as the first base runner of the game slides headlong into second base, extending a single into a double. “Pure Phase” and “Lunar Mansions” both make me anticipate hearing “We Carry On” from Portishead’s Third, much the way you anticipate a strikeout on a 1-2 count; it’s not directly logical, but it is reasonable a good portion of the time. The giddy expectations that come with arriving at the ballpark and the first few innings of the game are simply reflected in the repetitive drones of “Pure Phase”. All around is a calm apprehension about what will unfold from limitless possibilities.

Then the crackling inception of “Lunar Mansions” signals the first big hit of the game. The arrival of more prominent drums and a heavier tone parallel the sweatier humidity of the late afternoon. You can almost feel the guy next to you shifting uncomfortably in his seat, eagerly trying to catch the beer vendor’s eye. But the floodgates never open on these two EPs in the way I keep waiting for. As we continue on through “The Coming Tide” and “Moonrise”, we realize that we’re watching a pitchers’ duel; a game with a consistent rhythm and an evenness that is absent from games with offensive explosions. The methodical guitar strums of “The Coming Tide” evaporate the rising heat off of the outfield grass and carry it to a moonlit grave as the tones begin to turn to a blue and steely hue of the early evening innings. It becomes cold enough in these tones that the blankets come out under the floodlights. “Night Whispers” and “Big Sur” suggest the nearing eventuality of the game’s end and the return journey home with kids sleeping in the back seat and local radio quietly recapping the game. The plodding, amplified cello of “Night Whispers” captures the mood of the disappointed home crowd as their team loses by a hair and they begin to turn out of their seats and into the aisles. The slight sloppiness of radio chatter samples on this track echo the careless dropping of any and all trash onto the concrete grandstand. The once even, comforting hum and drone of the environment has been broken by a finality that the collective held its breath against all day and night.

It is this sense of timelessness in both the EPs and baseball that firmly establishes the final bond between the two in my listening(s). In Ken Burns’ Baseball, George Plimpton remarks on the timeless nature, or possibility, of baseball. He remarks that because there is no clock in the game, you become pleasantly disconnected from the constraints of time and temporary existence; the game could, quite possibly, go on forever if you keep on hitting and don’t make that last out. Well, the individual songs of A Path Through The Sun/A Path Through The Moon all have a feel of potential limitlessness; they could go on forever without making that last out. They could, probably, tie a knot between their beginning and end to make an eternity of noise.

With “Morning Light” and “Breaking Clouds”, the hope is renewed; whatever happened in the previous game, whatever disappointment, can be washed away. Standing on the front porch of the day, you can look out to the light towers of the ballpark and imagine, with rejuvenated hope, what could happen today. This is exactly why I can ignore the fact that these two EPs are the tracks omitted from their earlier album III (a technique I occasionally find to be a cheap way to release new material) and just simply enjoy them as they are.

In A Path Through The Sun/Moon, as in baseball, there is a long, drawn-out pattern of hope, expectation, anxiety, disappointment and gratification. The greatest part about this ride is that, while it may be rough one day and celebratory the next, the overall journey is a smooth, rolling traverse across large expanses of time. It requires a special kind of emotional dedication and patience, but you will keep coming back for more.

-Gabriel Bogart